


Step we gaily on we go

by DancingLassie



Series: A Scottish Medley [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ciri is their daughter, Ciri ships it, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, so soft, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingLassie/pseuds/DancingLassie
Summary: The ring is burning a hole in the pocket of  Geralt’s jeans.After his first disastrous marriage, Geralt never thought he'd want to get married again, but then there was Jaskier.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Scottish Medley [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736986
Comments: 80
Kudos: 1077





	Step we gaily on we go

**Author's Note:**

> For those waiting for the next part of Oxenfurt Academicals, I promise I've almost finished it!
> 
> Thanks to [Willowherb](https://willowherbgardens.tumblr.com/) for being my beta-reader.

The ring is burning a hole in the pocket of Geralt’s jeans. It has been tucked away there for the last month, but he daren’t hide it anywhere around the small house he and Jaskier share. Jaskier has a bad habit of accidentally stumbling across Geralt’s hiding places, even when he doesn’t mean to. It’s why Geralt has never managed to give him a surprise birthday or Christmas present in the entire three years of their relationship.

But he desperately wants this to be a surprise.

Jaskier deserves it.

When he’d appeared in Geralt’s dreary life four years ago, he’d slowly transformed Geralt’s monochrome world into full technicolour. He’d helped Geralt navigate his way through what’d seemed an impossibly dank swamp of bad decisions and regrets. 

More importantly, he’d saved Ciri, Geralt’s daughter.

In hindsight, Geralt and Yennefer should never have got together. Their relationship had been, in a word, toxic. She’d been desperate to be the centre of someone’s universe, and he could understand that. She’d spent her childhood being overlooked by her mother as her stepdad beat the shit out of her for having the audacity not to be his biological daughter.

Unfortunately, Geralt had… commitment issues is probably the politest phrase. They had mixed about as well as flame and gunpowder. Explosively.

She’d manipulated him until she was the centre of his universe, and he’d run from her when she needed him most. They were two broken people trying to convince the world they were whole. It was why, when they’d worked, they’d worked so well.

They should never have got married. The only good thing that had come out of their marriage had been Ciri, and for her Geralt would’ve willingly gone through the years of arguments and torture all over again.

For the first decade of Ciri’s life, they had managed to play happy families. They’d kept their arguments for when she was fast asleep or at school or a friend’s house. But something had changed after she turned ten. It might have been Yennefer’s promotion that’d seen her working longer hours, requiring Geralt to pick up the slack. As a self-employed plumber, his work was theoretically flexible enough to be organised around childcare arrangements. In practice, it hadn’t been so easy.

Rows had started to happen more frequently, and they hadn’t always checked to make sure Ciri was out of earshot. The breaking point had come when, during a particularly vicious argument, Yen had lobbed a jar of jam at his head. It’d missed, but Ciri had come sprinting into the room at the noise. The sight of her mother with her hand outstretched post-throw, and her father with his fists clenched to prevent retaliation, had sent her running to her room. She’d barred the door with her desk, refusing to let either of them in and then had quietly slipped out the window and run to her friend Dara’s house.

Dara’s mother, when she’d got the whole miserable tale from a distraught Ciri, had marched round and told them to get their shit together before she called social services.

Divorce had been the only solution either was willing to contemplate. Geralt wishes he could say they’d handled it like mature, fully functioning adults, but he’d be lying.

They’d both started off with the best of intentions, but it hadn’t been long before their tempers had ignited again during the long drawn out proceedings. They’d dragged Ciri into the middle of it, used her as a weapon against each other and done their best to make her take their side.

By the time the papers had been signed, Ciri had barely been talking to either of them, despite living alternate fortnights at each of their new homes.

She’d started to ignore Dara, hanging out instead with some of the local troublemakers who loitered near the community centre each night. Not that Geralt or Yennefer had known this. They’d thought she’d joined one of the many youth groups run at the centre and were too relieved that she seemed to be coming out of her shell again to ask the right questions.

The first Geralt had known of the unsavoury crew their daughter had got mixed up with, was when one of the youth workers from the centre had called him to let him know that he was in an ambulance with Ciri, on the way to hospital, after he’d found her passed out in the rain.

Jaskier, as he’d said his name was, had tried to call Yennefer but her phone had been switched off. Geralt’d tried multiple times to call her as he’d sped to the hospital, but she must have been in an important meeting or something because she didn’t pick up. He’d snapped an angry message into her voicemail, telling her to get to the damn hospital.

Ciri had looked so small and fragile when he’d got to her, hooked up to an IV, sobbing and clutching a stranger’s hand. The stench of booze was heavy around her and the doctor had already explained to him that his daughter was suffering from alcohol poisoning. She was  _ twelve _ !

She’d taken one look at his face and buried her head in the unknown man’s shoulder, refusing to look at him. She’d only let go when the stranger had offered to go outside with Geralt to explain what had happened.

That’d been how he had first met Jaskier. Sitting on uncomfortable hospital chairs, crying his eyes out as Jaskier had tried very gently to explain how he’d stumbled across Ciri’s prone, cold form next to the community centre’s bins. He’d managed to rouse her while they waited for the ambulance, wrapping her in his jacket to warm her as she’d drunkenly babbled all her sorrow and heartache to him.

“I don’t want to stick my nose in,” he’d told Geralt delicately and then changed his mind. “Actually, I do. There’s a very upset little girl in that room. I think you and Ciri’s mother should go to couples counselling. You need someone to mediate while you work your shit out, before it destroys your daughter.”

That’d been when Yennefer had come skidding down the corridor in her impossibly high heels, looking more disheveled than she had ever allowed Geralt to see her before. For a moment it’d seemed like they were about to kick off again, right in the hallway, but Jaskier had stepped in and taken charge.

He’d refused to give either of them a chance to lay the blame at the other’s feet and by the end of the night they’d agreed to meet a couples counsellor who was a friend of Jaskier’s.

His name was Dr Mousesack and he’d worked with them both, patiently and without any apparent judgement, as they’d unloaded their emotional baggage onto him. Six months of twice weekly sessions and Geralt had been astounded to realise he and Yennefer were becoming friends again. It would never be anything more. Apart from the obligatory, post-divorce shag Dr Mousesack had assured them most divorced couples indulged in, their relationship became platonic.

Geralt, for the first time in years, had remembered why they liked each other.

Ciri’d got some counselling too, from a lovely woman Jaskier also knew, called Triss. Geralt was prepared to write to the Vatican and declare her a saint, because under her guidance Ciri had begun to open up again. It hadn’t been easy. He still has the letter Ciri wrote to him, explaining why she did what she did and how he’d made her feel. Yennefer has one too, and they both keep them filed away. Ready to pull out and remind themselves why they need to work together whenever one of them starts to get on the other’s nerves.

Jaskier had been a friend to Ciri throughout it all and had convinced her to give his youth group nights at the community centre a try. He ran what he called ‘musical therapy’ sessions and Ciri had blossomed under his attention and care. That he’d let her hit things with drum sticks probably helped, as Ciri got to work out her aggression in a safe and productive manner.

As far as Geralt had been concerned, Jaskier was an angel sent straight from heaven and he did not know how he would ever repay him.

Jaskier had suggested a pint. After all, Yennefer had already donated a sizable amount to the charity Jaskier had set up to help fund his musical therapy classes.

So Geralt had bought him a pint one Friday night, and then another one the week after. The only reason he didn’t buy him one the Friday after that was because it’d been his turn to have Ciri. Instead he’d invited Jaskier round to have pizza and watch movies with the two of them.

Somehow, without Geralt noticing, Jaskier had become his best friend. Then Istredd, Yennefer’s ex, had come back into town. And Yennefer had asked him to look after Ciri on a Saturday that should have been hers, so Istredd could take her out on a date.

Geralt had been able to act normally that day, but the following day after (once Yennefer had collected Ciri) he’d found himself staring at his phone. His ex-wife was dating again, and Geralt had suddenly felt hopelessly lonely and afraid of such a feeling.

He’d called Jaskier, who’d turned up forty minutes later with a pack of beer and a willing ear. It’d been Jaskier who’d suggested he try online dating. It had not gone well.

A good profile picture was enough to garner him quite a bit of interest from both men and women, but when it came to the actual dates he’d panicked and scared them off with his too frequent silences. Dating shouldn’t be so hard he’d reflected after the fourth failed date. 

He just wanted someone he could laugh with. Like Jaskier. 

Someone he could curl up and watch bad movies on the couch with. Like Jaskier.

Someone who’d give him a sympathetic ear after a bad day at work. Like…

Jaskier.

That was when he’d realised he was already half in love with his best friend.

Needless to say, he’d avoided Jaskier like the plague for the next month, creating ever more unbelievable excuses as to why he couldn’t hang out. He’d ignored his daughter’s glares and Yennefer’s pointed little comments. Istredd had shot him sympathetic looks and tried to distract them from their disapproval. Geralt may have been reluctantly warming up to him. 

Then Jaskier had showed up at his door one Friday night, in tears, begging Geralt to tell him what he’d done wrong.

Geralt, the emotionally dense moron that he was, had just blurted out, “I love you!” Loudly. The entire street must have heard.

Jaskier had blinked stupidly at him for a few seconds before throwing himself into Geralt’s arms and attacking him with kisses. It’d been a fight Geralt had willingly lost.

Three years later and Jaskier now lives with him, goes with him to Ciri’s parent/teacher evenings and has a Whatsapp group set up with Geralt’s foster brothers so he can arrange family get-togethers.

Geralt has never been happier. 

He’d been content with the way things were, but then there’d been that family barbeque Jaskier had organised at the end of June.

It’s an annual occurrence now. Geralt’s foster brothers, Lambert and Eskel, his foster father, Vesemir, Yennefer, Istredd and Ciri (obviously). Jaskier’s parents had only ever been invited once. They’d turned up their noses at the house (too small), Geralt (what a thug) and, most damningly of all, Jaskier (is this the best you could do for yourself?).

Jaskier, whom Geralt had witnessed work himself sick with nerves at the impending visit, had hunched quietly over the barbeque as his mother had made loud, disparaging comments about her son’s lifestyle. His father had kept making job suggestions, hinting that he could wrangle Jaskier an interview.

Geralt had been livid as he’d watched this kind, vibrant, beautiful man he adored being torn to shreds in front of him. However, Yennefer had beaten him to the punch. Literally.

According to Jaskier, his father’s nose never did heal quite straight.

Now, family barbeques are a much more enjoyable occasion. But Geralt had overheard something interesting at the last one. Something he’d been unable to get out of his head.

“Are you ever going to make an honest man of my brother?” It had been Eskel’s voice Geralt had caught. He’d only nipped into the house to use the bathroom, but the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway had been ajar and the voices had carried through.

He hadn’t meant to stop and listen, but it had been Jaskier’s laugh that had answered Eskel’s question.

“Are you accusing me of taking advantage of him, Eskel?”

“Nope, just need to make sure he’s tied you down before you realise you could do better.”

Geralt had stuck up his middle finger in a rude gesture, despite the door blocking Eskel from seeing it.

“I know Geralt’s not interested in getting married again,” Jaskier had said softly. He didn’t sound angry about it, or bitter, or disappointed. Only understanding. “We work as we are. No need to change anything.”

Geralt had crept quietly back into the garden after that, before they could discover his eavesdropping.

What Jaskier had said was perfectly correct. Geralt didn’t see the need to get married again. Not after how disastrously it had gone the first time. What they had now was good. They didn’t need gold bands or a certificate to make it any better.

Except over the next three months Geralt couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every day he seemed to spot something that screamed marriage at him, and then he’d instantly think of Jaskier and that conversation he’d overheard.

A cake in the shape of a guitar in a bakery’s window. Jaskier would love a cheesy wedding cake like that.

A weekend out with Ciri to explore an old castle nearby for her history homework. Wouldn’t it be a stunning venue?

Jaskier’s cousin was getting married and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go because his parents would be there. Well, they  _ definitely _ wouldn’t be invited to Geralt and Jaskier’s wedding.

His thoughts had been driving him insane and he’d been forced to arrange a one-on-one session with Dr Mousesack before he did something unforgivable, like snap angrily at Jaskier or Ciri.

He’d sat on the doctor’s comfortable couch, twisting his hands nervously in his lap, as he’d explained about why he needed to get this idea of marriage out of his head. Dr Mousesack had been unobliging. Instead he’d questioned Geralt about why he thought marrying Jaskier would turn their relationship into a similar one to what his and Yennefer’s had been. His current relationship with Jaskier, the doctor had calmly made him realise, was very different from the one he’d shared with Yennefer before they’d married. It stood to reason that any marriage between him and Jaskier would be different too.

He’d sent Geralt away with homework. He had to list everything that broke down in his relationship with Yennefer, and then compare it to his current relationship with Jaskier. It’d hammered in just how different the two were, and just how much Geralt had grown since..

It’d been Ciri he’d gone to next. She was, is and will always be the most important person in his life, and it’d felt wrong not to include her in this decision.

Jaskier had been away for the weekend, running a get-away music retreat for kids with behavioural problems. So, Geralt had spent his Saturday baking cakes with Ciri and watching old, cheesy rom-coms together. He’d cleared his throat awkwardly as the credits of ‘Four Weddings and a Funeral’ had begun to roll.

“What would you think if I asked Jaskier to marry me?”

She had been raising a fourth cupcake to her mouth (she was going to be sick if she didn’t stop soon) but in her surprise she’d completely missed, smooshing cake and icing into her cheek as she’d turned to gawp at him.

“Really?” she’d checked. “Are you really seriously asking if I’d be ok with it?”

He’d nodded, waiting for her answer. It’d shattered his eardrums when she’d let out a high-pitched squeal of glee.

“I get to be your best woman!” she’d demanded, as she’d thrown herself at him, nearly strangling him in her excitement. “Have you got a ring? How are you planning to ask? Does anyone else know? Can I help with the proposal?”

The rest of the weekend had been spent brainstorming as Geralt had admitted that he had no ring and no plan. Ciri had got on her phone and searched out a dozen possible rings within an hour. He’d only just managed to stop her from pinging out a message to the rest of the family. He hadn’t wanted anyone but himself and Ciri from knowing about this until he’d asked Jaskier. 

Ciri had accompanied him when he went ring shopping. She’d also had the bright idea of borrowing one of Jaskier’s rings so they knew the right size. Geralt had been right out of his comfort zone, but he’d eventually spotted a ring he thought Jaskier would like. A thick silver band with a thin gold line running through the middle. Embedded in the centre was a small diamond. Simple, but with a little bit of flash.

Now he just has to propose. He and Ciri have worked out the romantic proposal that Jaskier deserves. Christmas is coming up and Geralt has suggested they take a long weekend to cross the channel and check out one of Europe’s famous Christmas markets. Jaskier’s thrilled with the suggestion.

So, here’s the plan. Geralt has booked a little flat in Bruges. On the first full day of their little holiday, he and Jaskier will go check out the Christmas market and stroll hand in hand around one of the most picturesque medieval towns in Europe. He will buy Jaskier hot chocolate at a little café, whatever street food he fancies for lunch, and they’ll find a pub with a fire where they can share a couple of beers and have a nice dinner. When they return to the flat, after a perfect day, Geralt will bring out the ring and pop the question.

Ciri is insisting that he go down on one knee, but Geralt has been having some knee problems recently and he doesn’t think it will be very romantic if his knees crack on the way down. Or if Jaskier has to physically haul him up again afterward.

The only trouble with this plan is timing. The holiday is still two weeks away and Geralt is going out of his mind with nerves.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sneaks up being him while he’s washing dishes. “Are you alright?” 

“Hmm,” he nods in what he hopes is a convincing manner.

“You’ve been very quiet these past few weeks.” Arms sneak around his waist as Jaskier rests a cheek between his shoulder blades. “Quieter than usual I mean.” A kiss is pressed to the back of his neck. “You just seem a bit on edge.”

Fuck it. 

He can’t last another two weeks.

He spins around in Jaskier’s arms, a soapy hand diving into his pocket to fish out the ring.

“Marry me?” he asks desperately.

Jaskier blinks at him, and then at the ring. For once, he is struck speechless.

Geralt waits anxiously for a response, feeling foolish and desperate.

“Yes,” Jaskier whispers. Geralt almost doesn’t hear him.

“What?” he checks.

“Yes!” Jaskier shouts this time and tugs Geralt towards him for a long, sweet kiss. A trembling hand anchors itself in Geralt’s hair, and he finds that he’s shaking too as he tightens his arms around his fiancé.

Ciri is going to mock him for years. She’s helped him make the  _ perfect _ plan and he’s gone and blurted out a proposal while he and Jaskier are each wearing their oldest and most comfortable jeans and threadbare t-shirts. 

The ring, when he slides it onto Jaskier’s finger, is covered in soap suds. Jaskier doesn’t seem to care. He drags Geralt off to their room, demanding sex with him while wearing nothing but his new ring.

As far as Geralt is concerned, this is damned near perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you fancy saying hi, you can find me [here](https://dancinglassie.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
> The title comes from one of my _favourite_ Scottish folk songs/dances called [Mairi's Wedding.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_y1EOWBr78E) I've happily been swung up and down many a dance floor to this tune.


End file.
